


i'll take you there

by novelteas



Series: die luft der freiheit weht [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, College, Gen, Pre-Canon, Stanford Era, Stanford University, University, basically my dean bean is hurt ok let me suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:43:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novelteas/pseuds/novelteas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam huffs a tiny laugh. This is it. This is his chance to leave the family business. John won't be happy about it, and who <i>knows</i> how Dean will react, but Sam's fear and anxiety is pushed to the back of his mind, stewing underneath his elation. </p><p>"What're you holding, Sammy?"</p><p> </p><p>  <i>AU Meme: Dean finds Sam's college applications</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll take you there

**Author's Note:**

> finally, my first supernatural fic. good lord. please don't kill me. i hope my writing doesn't suck. anyway the extent to which dean protects sam done kills me so there's that. obviously based off a tumblr post. also sorry about the tags, they're always a mess.

Applying to college was hard.

No, it wasn't just hard. Applying to college was hard for anyone. But at the same time, it wasn't _hard_ , it was an even playing field, where everyone had essays and test scores and transcripts and application fees to send in. It was hard for the valedictorian in one of the biggest high schools in New York, it was hard for the bottom of the class in the tiny private school in Montana of all places, and it was hard for Sam Winchester. 

But the #1 ranked students across the country at every high school did not have a John Winchester. They did not have a Dean Winchester. They did not move from city to city hunting demons and spirits, and they certainly did not have a frankly Very Disturbing past involving demons feeding them blood and their mothers burning to death on the ceiling of their childhood nurseries. And these were all things that Sam Winchester had.

It wasn't worth applying, he told himself, when the school counselor had first brought it up. John would hate it, right off, just because it would involve Sam being separated from them. Dean . . . Dean always told Sam he was brilliant and that he could do great things, but Sam wasn't sure if Dean would be totally on board with the idea of spending hundreds of dollars sending in test scores and application fees, especially if it involved tying them down to one confirmed identity. Mary Winchester would have loved the idea, and Sam was fairly certain he could always use her as a bargaining chip, but he didn't want to, mostly because if she were actually alive to be used as a bargaining chip, Sam would not be trying to rationalize whether college was a go-ahead or not. 

And really, it wasn't worth applying. John had nearly gotten the police called with the fit he'd thrown when he found out Sam had taken out $60 for the SAT, never mind that Sam had pointed out it was pretty much required for all juniors in high school. ("When're you ever gonna need this crap, son?" John had demanded, waving the second-hand SAT prep book that Sam had taken from the library. "Those juniors aren't hunters.") After that, Dean kept it quiet and he helped Sam pay for all his AP exams.

It made Sam feel guilty, the first time he registered for an AP behind John's back when he was a sophomore. It was just one test, European History, so it was just one registration fee, just $100, but he knew John wouldn't say yes and was more likely to yell at him than anything. And Dean had taken one look at the Registration Guidelines handed out by the school counseling office, raised his eyebrows, and quietly dug out his cache of saved money, handing Sam a wadded assortment of tens and fives. And it made Sam feel guiltier when he took four APs the next year and watched Dean's eyebrows shoot higher, watched him swallow softly and hand him all the twenties and tens in the cache. 

It wasn't John that Sam was thinking about when he told the counselor he wouldn't be applying for college. It was Dean. 

But at the same time, Sam felt even worse when he thought about the fact that not applying to college would only mean that he had taken all those tests for nothing. And then what for Dean? He'd thrown away half a thousand dollars for his little brother. Would he throw away another half to send in an application for him? Sam didn't doubt that he would, but that didn't mean Dean would be thrilled.

So Sam made a deal with himself. He'd apply to one college. Just one. If he didn't make it in, then he was supposed to stay in the family business. If he didn't make it in, that was just Fate telling him he was supposed to go out and kill demons. If he did, and the financial aid made it possible for him to go, then Fate was obviously telling him he had an education and a job much more lucrative than killing already dead people to pursue. And after a considerable amount of contemplation regarding what would be the best way to make Mary Winchester proud was, Sam decided he'd go study law at Stanford. If they accepted him.

But Dean couldn't know. Dean couldn't know any of this, not that his little brother was applying to one of the most prestigious universities in the country, not that his little brother had been building up his own stash of money to send in his (very impressive) test scores, not that his little brother was spending much of his free time at the library, filling CommonApp on the library computers and writing his essays. And Dean didn't know, which was good, because if Dean knew, then there was no telling when John Winchester would come barreling through the library, destroying the quiet, slap Sam, and publicly humiliate him.

Sam was glad John was out on a hunt when April 1 came around. He was glad they were still living in the same place as when he'd sent out the application online. John was convinced the demon was near, and for once Sam was glad for it. He didn't want John picking up the mail.

Dean poked his head into their room. "Sam, I'm going to take a shower. Don't bother me."

"Someone's going to have a nice jerk-off," Sam muttered under his breath, closing his textbook and tossing it to the foot of the bed. He looked up innocently at Dean. "Alright. Have fun. I'm just going to go grab the mail."

Dean hummed in acknowledgement as Sam swung his legs off the bed and put on his shoes. This was it. It was either a future outside of life-threatening situations and spending a rather large amount of money on salt, or riding around in the backseat of the Impala . . . with a lot of salt. 

Sam's hand was shaking so hard as he grabbed the single envelope sitting in the mail that he nearly dropped it. God, he was glad John wasn't here. There was no mistaking the large circular seal in red ink and his name on the front of the envelope. Whatever results were inside, he couldn't ever let John or Dean find this. Not even if he was accepted. Never.

Back in his room, he pressed his ear to the bathroom door, made sure the shower water was still running, and then kicked off his shoes, sat on the bed, and wiggled his finger under the sealed flap. "Deep breath, Sam," he whispered to himself, sucking in a breath sharply. "You made this deal."

He tore the paper across the fold of the flap, and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his heart pounding so loudly he could hear his blood rushing through his ears. His fingers quivered, reaching inside the envelope to pull out the cream-colored paper, closing his eyes and praying.

_March 2002_

_Sam Winchester_

_Dear Sam,_

_Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the Stanford University Class of 2006._

_Your thoughtful application and remarkable accomplishments convinced us that you have the intellectual energy, imagination and talent to flourish at Stanford. Among the over 20,000 applications we read, your distinguished record of academic excellence and personal achievement stood out. We are thrilled to welcome you to the Stanford community and look forward to the unique and extraordinary contributions we know you will make to the intellectual and extracurricular life of our campus._

_The exciting next step is now yours. As Stanford is probably only one of several options you will consider in the coming weeks, I hope you will use the time to learn more about us. We invite you to participate in Admit Weekend 2002, a three-day program that will introduce you to the intellectual vibrancy and dynamic campus life that define Stanford. Information about that event is enclosed. Whatever decision you make, we ask that you complete the enclosed enrollment response card and return it to us by the postmark deadline of May 1, 2002. Should you decide to matriculate at Stanford — and we sincerely hope you do — we will send enrollment information to you in late May._

_While we have every reason to believe you will complete this school year successfully, remember that your admission is contingent upon your continued strong academic performance in the program you presented to us in your application._

_Once again, I extend my congratulations on your admission to Stanford and welcome you to the Stanford family._

There was a second page in the envelope, which he read too, his eyes skimming over the words and focusing in on the _we are pleased to offer you a full-ride scholarship in Stanford's Undergraduate Program._

Sam let his eyes trace over the blue ink lines of the signature from Robin Mamlet, Dean of Admissions on the bottom of the letter, then at the seal and letterhead at the top. Then he set down the letter, blinked a few times, and exhaled slowly.

He'd done it.

He'd applied to one college, and they'd accepted him with a full scholarship.

Sam huffed a tiny laugh. This was it. This was his chance to leave the family business. John wouldn't be happy about it, and who _knew_ how Dean would react, but Sam's fear and anxiety was pushed to the back of his mind, stewing underneath his elation. 

"What're you holding, Sammy?"

Sam's head whipped up, and he tried to do everything at once: shove the letter back in the envelope, stand up, hide everything, open his textbook back up and pretend he was just studying. But he was a crappy liar when it came to Dean, because he'd never had to hide something this big before. 

"It's . . . it's nothing," Sam said lamely, flipping the envelope around so Dean couldn't see the Stanford emblem. 

A smirk crept up Dean's face. "Love letter?"

"What?" Sam's face colored. "No! I mean - it's - it's just - "

Dean cackled and dropped the towel he'd been drying his hair with. "Let me see it," he said, grinning. 

Sam flushed even harder. "No!" he exclaimed, leaning away from Dean and holding the letter out of his brother's reach. "You wouldn't want to see it."

"Wouldn't want to see my little brother getting some?" Dean teased. He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came out. 

"Dean?" Sam scanned his brother's face. 

Dean's mouth was slightly agape, his eyebrows arched, eyes wide. He was staring at the envelope in Sam's hand.

The envelope, which was face up, the Stanford logo suddenly the most incriminating piece of evidence against something Sam had ever held.

"Stanford," Dean said quietly, licking his lips and swallowing. He sat down slowly on the bed across from Sam. "You applied to college." He held his hand out to Sam, waiting for the letter.

Sam hesitated. "Please don't hate me."

"I'm not going to do anything to it, Sam. I just want to read it."

Dean read the letter, his thumb marking the lines as he went along. Sam tried to read his brother's expression, but it was totally unreadable. Blank. No, not blank. Too busy. Full off resignation and pride and sadness and anger and joy. He finished reading the letter, and the letter informing Sam of his scholarship, and handed it back to his little brother in silence.

Sam opened his mouth a few times to say something, anything, but Dean was just sitting there, hands in his lap, nodding his head slowly like he knew this was coming at some point. Like he knew the inevitable had finally happened. Like he had known Sam had applied to college all along and just hadn't told him, but he'd still known, and now there was no denying it.

"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean said, finally, lowering his head and rubbing his forehead with his hand. "Did you even plan on telling me?"

Sam swallowed uncomfortably. He wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry," he said, the words forced out of his throat awkwardly. "For - for everything, Dean."

The silence said everything that Sam couldn't. That this was a massive fucking mistake. That yes, he should have told Dean he was applying to Stanford but no, he didn't regret not doing so. That he had every intention of accepting the offer and running off to California. That he was leaving the family business. That he was giving up on hunting the demon that had been busy feeding him blood the night Mary Winchester bled and burned to death on the ceiling of their house in Lawrence. That he was _sorry_ for giving up on that demon before Dean and John. That he was swanning off to a place where Dean couldn't protect him forever. That he knew it would kill Dean to do that. Four year-old Dean, who'd run outside with him when he was six months old and watched their house be consumed by flames. Dean, who'd been given a gun by John Winchester when he was twelve years old and told to _watch out for your brother Sam_. Dean, who was determined to protect his little brother at any and all cost. Dean, who at twenty-two years of age could fight off most spirits and demons and would shoot anything threatening his little brother, but couldn't hang around his little brother at college, keeping him safe from both the spirit world and the real world. It was impossible. 

The silence was suffocating, building layer upon layer and making it harder and harder to speak. "I'll drive you there," Dean said at last, sighing. "We'll take the car in August and I'll take you there."

Sam looked up again, meeting his brother's downcast eyes. He nodded slowly. "Okay."

Dean stood up. "I'm going to go grab a drink from the kitchen, actually," he said, clearing his throat. His voice was oddly even. "Need me to grab you anything? A beer? If you do, I won't tell Dad."

Sam snorted and shook his head.

Dean was in the kitchen for a very long time. Sam pretended not to hear his brother cracking open two bottles. He also pretended not to hear him set them down on the table as heavily as he did, a habit Dean had whenever he was upset. He also pretended not to hear his brother kick the cabinets under the sink. He sat down, back against the wall, and listened to his older brother heave a very heavy breath.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah ok you know what just let me suffer because i can't write. mostly because i can't bring myself to break dean's heart. my smol bean needs protecting. also goddamn i wish sam could get me into stanford.
> 
> also if you want you can [follow me on tumblr](http://castikills.tumblr.com/) and talk to me/request other fics there.


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